The Biker's Secret Torment: MC Romance: Talon (Rosesson Brothers) (16 page)

I curled my fingers around the gun and put an ounce of pressure on the trigger, then pulled it smoothly out of the interior pocket of the cut. I rolled in one motion, letting my body do the work, my fingers do the sighting. I pulled the trigger three times.

Bulldog fell down, mid-sentence.

"Ah fuck, Talon. You got him." Whip's voice was sad. Old. Resigned.

Yeah, I got him, but Whitey was still dead, Crystal and Jaze were still missing. I crossed the room in a heartbeat and tore Bulldog's gun out of his fingers, placing it by his feet. I held the gun I'd taken from Whitey to his temple and checked his pulse. Silent. Dead.

I stood, looking at the gun in my hand and thinking long and hard. We needed cops, but if I called them, they would arrest me. Even though it was self-defense, I knew I would walk away in handcuffs until they questioned me and Whip.

Crystal.

I walked back to Whitey and placed the gun on the ground next to him, then headed out of the room.

"Talon, wait, let me out of here! He said there was no key but you can pick the lock, I know you can."

I turned to face him. "Do you know where Crystal is?"

He shook his head.

"You swear Whip? You swear on Whitey's soul you don't know where Crystal is?"

"I swear Talon. I would never hurt my baby."

I took a moment to consider that, but I couldn't believe him. I didn't trust him anymore. He'd done that to me.

"I'm going to find her."

His face creased and he nodded. "I understand," was all he said.

I turned and left.

***

Talon

I walked the entire first floor, checking every door for a cellar. My mind played Whitey's last words over and over again, worrying them. A building like this wouldn't have a cellar, it would have a basement. But it didn't seem to have either. I thought I might know somewhere that did have a cellar though, somewhere that Whitey would have known I knew about.

I broke my pace and began to run to the door. I would find her. I had to.

I pushed my way into the sunshine, the afternoon light that didn't care two men were lying dead behind me. My bike was to the left, but the long, sloped delivery entrance only went to the right. I vaulted over the railing in front of me to shave precious seconds off my exit.

In the air, a flash of circular light caught my eye. I landed on my feet, almost turned away, almost ignored it, but the pull was too strong. I turned and scanned the far part of the parking lot looking for it. I walked slowly in the direction that I'd seen it. As I got closer, I saw what it was. A coin. A large, dull, copper-colored challenge coin, like the big bosses handed out in the military. It never should have caught the light in the way I had seen.

I approached it and picked it up, my stomach clenching. Crystal's coin. I looked around, seeing nothing out here, nowhere it could have come from.

I sprinted to the closest storage shed and ripped the door open. Whitey's bike, and Whip's bike. I shuffled to the next one, my heart feeling so heavy in my chest it threatened to topple me.

Empty.

I walked to the last one, noting the silver lock on it. Suspicious, but this shed was nowhere big enough to hold the black van he'd driven yesterday. Maybe a small car. Definitely a woman. "Crystal," I called.

Silence echoed back to me.

I pulled my knife out of my pocket and opened the tiny pry bar, pulling out the free standing lock pick. I'd never picked a lock like this, but I knew the mechanics behind it, knew it could be done. I pushed the pick in and worked the tumblers. It was easier than I had thought it would be. I pulled it off and flung it away, then opened the doors, my heart in my throat, the weight of my hope cutting off my breath.

A tiny sedan was squeezed into the space, with barely enough room for a person to open the driver's side door.

"Crystal!" I scooted sideways against the wall, looking in the windows. The car was empty.

I pulled open the driver's side door. I had one more chance. I pulled the lever marked trunk and swallowed hard as it popped open.

I scooted between the wall and the car and there she was. My Crystal. My Gidget. Motionless, curled up.

I held my breath and pressed my fingers to her pulse. Thank God! An ocean of relief washed over me. I stripped off my gloves, needing to touch her.

"Crystal, baby, wake up. I pulled her into my arms and smoothed her hair down, covered her face with kisses.

She didn't respond. I pressed my head to her chest, alarmed when I didn't hear a breath. I held my own again for a long minute, before she took a slow, shallow breath. Fuck! Whatever he had her on was slowing her breathing.

I pulled her out of the trunk, laid her on the ground, and looked at her, unsure what to do next. Ambulance! I pulled my phone out of my pocket and gave the address to the dispatcher, telling her my girlfriend was having trouble breathing. Anything more was sure to bring the cops too, and I couldn't deal with them yet. I had to get Crystal safe, maybe still follow my hunch.

I pinched her arm but she didn't respond. I shook her. Still nothing. Finally, I found the nerve where her neck met her shoulder and pressed it, hating myself for it.

"Uhhhh," she moaned brushing at me with her hand.

"Crystal, wake up, it's me, Talon."

"Talo," she mumbled, her hands fluttering in the air then dropping to her sides. "Luh you."

I pressed the nerve again. "Crystal, stay with me, I need you."

This time her cry belied her pain and I let go, knowing I couldn't do it again. Her eyes fluttered, but didn't stay open. She lay slack on the concrete.

"Crystal, wake up honey, I need you here."

I heard sirens. Thank God.

Her head moved slightly and her hand fluttered to my chest. "Talo." She pursed her lips and tried again, her eyes still closed. "
Talon.
Love you. Sorry."

All the tension in my body flooded out of me and I felt every rock roll off of me. "Don't be sorry honey, don't ever be sorry. You didn't do anything. It was me."

"Well, duh," she said so softly I could barely hear her. Her hand dropped to the ground again. I held it and looked up at the ambulance pulling into the parking lot.

I would have to give them my girl and trust that she was safe. I still had one more job to do before the cops could have me.

Talon

"411 E. Frontier St. There's been a shooting."

I pressed end call on the phone and dropped it into my pocket, cutting off the dispatcher's pleas for more information.

I watched the ambulance turn left out of the parking lot, heading to the hospital. I said a prayer for Crystal and started my bike, turned right, and headed out to the country.

Only a few minutes into my ride, I felt my phone vibrate against my chest. Ignore it? No.

I pulled over and checked it. Whip. Which made absolutely no sense.

"Hello?" I could hear sirens in the background. The cops arriving at the warehouse.

"Talon. I'll make this quick. You didn't shoot him. I did."

"What?"

"Look, I know it's just one more secret, but if you have any trust at all left for me, just go with me on this. You didn't shoot him. I did. I don't want this to hang over your head. We both know it was self-defense. Totally justified. But we also both know the prosecutor's office doesn't always see things the way they are, especially when it comes to the MC."

"Whip, the angle, you couldn't."

"I dragged the work bench away from the wall. I could. I shot the gun into the wall behind him so I have gunpowder on my fingers."

I didn't say anything. I would have to think about this one very hard.

"Just find my baby, Talon."

I sighed. "I did, Whip, she's ok."

The old man sobbed into the phone. "Thank you."

"I might know where Jaze is too."

"Is he ...?"

"I won't know until I get there."

"You're a good man, Talon. I would be honored to have you as a son-in-law."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I hung up the phone.

Twenty minutes later I pulled my bike in the driveway of Whitey's mom's house. The place had been empty for a decade, and it looked it. Weeds and wildflowers grew hand in hand, not stopping at the former boundary of the driveway. The small red house seemed to lean, to warn people away from entering.

When I walked up to the front door though, it had a brand new lock on it, and every window in the place had been boarded up with plywood.

I went around to the back, but there was a new lock on that door also. These locks were industrial strength, not easy to pick. I didn't think I would have to.

I walked out to the old storm shelter twenty-five feet behind the house and pulled open the doors that were set into the ground. I expected cobwebs, bugs, signs of disuse, but no, everything was clean.

I started down the steps, wishing I had a flashlight. At the bottom, I found an entire row of them in the sunlight that managed to filter down and puddle on the ground. I turned one on, not even bothering to hope. It was strong, telling me I was exactly where I should be.

The tiny shelter was empty. The shelves stood bare. I shone my light on the very back wall of the shelter, found the door knob, and pulled it, shining my light down the earthen hall that led to the main house.

What's done is done, sure, but we still have to hope, to try, to make sure.

I walked down the corridor, dust puffing up under my feet. The world was silent, reminding me of sunset after a heavy snowfall.

At the end, I pushed open the door that led into the cellar of the house, wincing at the loud shriek it made.

A light greeted me. Shone in my face, blinding me. "Whitey?" a voice called.

I couldn't speak for a moment. My mouth dried up and the flashlight almost fell from my hand.

Jaze's voice. Weak, unsure, but so unmistakably Jaze.

"No man, it's me."

"Talon." Jaze sounded close to tears. "You found me. I'm not gonna die in this shithole."

"Never," I whispered, not trusting myself to say any more.

I went to him and dropped to one knee to embrace him. He threw one arm around my neck. The other one stayed on the ground. I heard the sound of a shifting chain as he tried to move.

When he let me go I shined my light on the ground next to him. He was shackled to an old tie rod embedded in the concrete of the floor.

"Key?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Whitey might have it on him."

"Whitey!"

"Yeah man, you're never gonna believe what the hell he's doing."

"Try me," I grunted as I fished my knife from my pocket, wondering if I could pick this lock. It looked pretty standard.

I went to work with the lock pick and the pry bar from my knife, as Jaze talked.

The story poured out, pulling my concentration away several times, making the lock picking take forever.

Whitey had told Jaze everything in bits and pieces, every time he came to bring Jaze food and water. Whitey and Jaze's dad had started the MC club with Bulldog and three other guys when they came home from Vietnam. Band-aid, the medic from their unit in Vietnam, had been president, Whip had been Vice, Bulldog was named Sergeant at Arms, and Whitey, Secretary/Treasurer. Whip and Band-aid wanted the club to be an extension of their unit in Vietnam. A place where men could come together after the war and still feel like they fit in. Bulldog had tried to take the club in a different direction, an illegal direction. He had brought in people to make and smuggle drugs, enlisted some members to start being enforcers, strong-arming businesses. Doing everything that gave MCs a bad image, named them as a criminal element.

Church had culminated into nothing but one endless fight after another until Band-aid said he was going to disband the club. It had grown in the few years to include almost fifty members, and to many of them it was the only home they had.

Band-aid, Whip, Whitey, Bulldog and James, one of the other founding members, had gotten together alone to try to work things out a final time. Bulldog pulled a gun on Band-aid, and Band-aid pulled one back, then Whip and Whitey pulled theirs too. James and Band-aid had ended up dead, and nobody was entirely sure who shot who.

Bulldog named himself the new president, saying that Whip was too much of a pussy to make the hard decisions that needed to be made. His first decision was the two dead men were to be buried in a shallow grave.

Whip convinced Whitey they had to band together against Bulldog. They wiped their guns, left them with the bodies, and went to the police, making up a story that would lay the finger of guilt only on Bulldog. Bulldog was arrested and would have gone to trial but he ended up escaping during transport to prison.

The guilt and fear and fallout had nearly destroyed the club anyway, but Whip and Whitey had managed to hold it together somehow. Something had changed with Whip though, and he became more violent, heading to jail several times, almost always for assault of some kind.